I Think I Love You - BBC Sherlock Fanfic
by TheCoatedShade
Summary: Sherlock has realised that he is in love with his flatmate, John, but when he tries to tell him so, he is brutally rejected, and their friendship suffers. Can they repair it, or will things never be the same?
1. I Think I Love You

They'd done so much together since they first met; anyone else might think they'd known each other for years. Mrs Hudson and Lestrade also noticed how much more Sherlock smiled when John was around; and he was slightly less condescending, but not much. Sherlock and John were like the inseparable pair, like each side of the same coin. One was always there for the other.

Sherlock was fiddling with his violin on the couch, waiting for John to get home. He'd decided that today, he'd tell John what he'd been thinking for quite a while; the one thing that he did not express out loud for everyone to know.

As tedious as it did seem, he'd spent a lot of the past week researching the meaning of love. The internet, in books; they all seemed to lead to the same conclusion.

At last, Sherlock heard the sound of the front door closing.

"Where have you been?" Sherlock called from in the living room.

"Sarah's, I told you I would be staying there the night." John replied, making his way up the stairs.

Sherlock scowled. What could he possibly get from Sarah? She was ordinary; so average and boring, and yet, John spent so much time there. But that wasn't going to stop Sherlock from saying what he wanted to say. He had a strange sense of confidence inside of him. It would be alright.

"John," Sherlock started.

"Mmm?" John mumbled, as he went in his room to sort out his things he brought back with him.

"I've been thinking lately, about something…"

"Well there's a surprise."

"No, John, just listen please. I've been thinking, a lot, and there's something I think you should know."

"Get on with it then, Sherlock." John said through the hall.

Sherlock decided not to let things get lost in translation between the walls of the flat, so he got up and walked over to outside John's bedroom door. He had major butterflies; it felt like his stomach was doing somersaults.

"Ithinkiloveyou." Sherlock blurted out extremely quickly.

"What?"

"John, I think… that I love you." Sherlock stared into John's eyes, waiting for some kind of response.

John's face froze for a moment, before he spoke. "Is this some kind of new way to get what you want?"

"No, it isn't. I'm being serious, John."

"Well… how did you come to that conclusion, Sherlock? What would you know about love?" John asked, continuing to put his clothes away.

"I'm happy when you're around, I like to spend time with you. I like it when you laugh, and how you stand up for me when the others call me names… must I go on?" Sherlock said quickly, before moving his gaze to the floor.

John stood frozen again, eyes boring into Sherlock. "You're being ridiculous. I believe what you _think _is love, is just… friendship. You haven't really had a friend before, have you Sherlock? That's all it is." John glanced at Sherlock. "Now that we've sorted that out, let's just be sensible from now on, okay?"

Sherlock spun around and marched to his bedroom, not bothering to be gentle when closing the door behind him. This was possibly one of the worst reactions he could have gotten. Why couldn't John just listen?

For the next few days, no words were passed between Sherlock and John. Sherlock was often found lying across the couch, his back facing outwards, curled up in a ball. There was no reply when he was spoken to, and he didn't like to move when John was in the room.

After John had been out of the room for about a minute, Sherlock got up and ran to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. He skulled it down and ran back to the couch, but John was just outside the living room door. Sherlock lept back on the couch and curled up in his ball again. John sighed and muttered "Sook."

John just presumed this behaviour was because Sherlock was perhaps embarrassed about his poor sense of self-deduction, but he was upset because John was not listening to him.

He wasn't listening at all.


	2. Uncaring Soldier

Sherlock's phone buzzed, and he reached to answer it from where he was curled up in a ball.

"Yes?"

"I've got a nice juicy murder for you, Sherlock. Come down to the Yard." Lestrade said.

"Be there soon." Sherlock replied, and he hung up the phone.

He stood up and stretched. He was still wearing his dressing gown, so he dressed in his usual black suit attire, pulled on his signature coat, and tied his deep blue scarf around his neck. He was ready.

He strode into the Yard, and was met by Inspector Lestrade.

"Sherlock! We've got a body, gunshot to the chest, found in a creek in the countryside."

It sounded rather dull to Sherlock; just your average murder. It would probably take up barely any time at all.

"It was probably the man's wife, found out he was cheating, when she confronted him about it he lied to her face, she was sick of his rubbish so she shot him straight in the chest, and dumped the body in the countryside thinking that no one would find it. Stupid woman didn't realise that the countryside is home to elderly people who like to walk their dog." Sherlock deduced quickly, using under half a second for each word.

"You haven't even seen the body yet!" Lestrade exclaimed, looking annoyed but impressed at the same time.

"Honestly Lestrade, you know me; I like interesting murders. This one sounds just as average as all the others you hear about nearly every day: typical and easy to solve. Now that my time has been wasted, I think I'll go back home and have a cup of tea." Sherlock turned with a swish of his coat and proceeded out the doors.

Lestrade was left in a state of shock. Sure, Sherlock had his moods, but to completely walk out on a case without even examining the body? _That _was odd.

Sherlock climbed the steps of 221B, and threw his coat through his bedroom door. He walked in the kitchen, put the kettle on and sighed. He slumped over the sink, gazing at the nothingness in front of him.

_Where is John? _He thought, before soon realising that he was most likely at his girlfriend's house, talking boring gossip and about the weather, with all that pointless romantic babble. Sherlock growled before heading over to the kettle just boiled, when he heard a voice from downstairs.

"I'll have a cup of tea too!" John called.

Sherlock sneered. _Of course_ _you will._

John entered the kitchen. "I got a call from Lestrade about a case. I've just came back from the Yard but you weren't there. He said you walked out before examining the body."

Sherlock decided he wouldn't reply since there was no actual question directed at him.

"So, why did you walk out?" John asked, realising Sherlock's thoughts.

"It was dull." Sherlock mumbled shortly.

"It would have been something to do."

"It would have been something _boring _to do. I'll be waiting for a phone call from Lestrade, to tell me that my quick deduction was correct."

John shifted his stance.

"Sherlock, you are a detective. There's going to be so called 'boring' cases here and there. You just have to get over it."

"No John. They call me when they need me. Even _they _could work out that murder today. It would take them a ridiculous amount of time to do so, but they would. I was not needed, and there was also the factor that I didn't want to be there, but rather be at home, right here. I was hoping it would be in peace, but _obviously_ that plan's now ruined." Sherlock spat, before adding milk to his mug of hot tea.

He took the mug and walked it into the living room, placing it on the coffee table, before settling into his armchair. John entered the room a few seconds later, standing a few metres from Sherlock, looking at him.

"Is there something you'd like to say, John?" Sherlock asked smartly, not taking his eyes away from his tea.

"You are unbelievable sometimes." John said calmly.

"Well John, so are you." There was an edge to Sherlock's voice.

"Is this about the other day?"

"I don't know, is it?"

"I've moved on Sherlock. I'm not really thinking about it anymore. I don't care. I understand you might be… embarrassed or whatever, but just get over it."

"You wouldn't care, you John? No; because that's who you are: John's Watson, the uncaring soldier. The 'Everything Is Okay' guy. Alright, you're over it, you don't care, fine. Just leave me be then, so I enjoy my tea, _by myself!"_

John opened his mouth to talk, but decided against it, and left the room in a huff. Moments later, Sherlock heard the front door slam.

_Straight back to Sarah's._ Sherlock thought. He took of his tea, but decided he didn't want to drink it anymore. The mug flew across the room and shattered against the wall, pale brown liquid splashed across the wall and dripping down to the floor.


	3. Brother Dear

_He was in a bright clearing; the sun's rays were shining through the trees. Sherlock looked around and absorbed his surroundings. He was not alone. John approached him gracefully and placed a hand on Sherlock's._

_"I'm sorry, Sherlock." He said, as he wrapped his arms around the detective._

_Sherlock held him close, until John pulled away, and his steely gaze met Sherlock's pale eyes. John's eyes flashed and glowed the brightest white. He stepped back and placed a palm on a nearby mound, which rose up to form the body of Sarah._

_"I'm sorry I ever met you, Sherlock." John spat, his eyes still glowing. He turned to Sarah, her eyes also lighting up. They turned to Sherlock._

_"I hate you. I've always hated you, and I don't ever want to see you again." John leaped forward and began tearing at Sherlock, his flesh being ripped off, bit by bit. He was writhing and screaming, begging for it to be over._

Sherlock jolted awake, feeling horrified. He was sweating and shaking, and the room was dark and scary. He got up quickly and flicked in the light. He leaned against the door, and his back slid down until he was in a heap on the floor. He inhaled deeply and sighed.

Sherlock had a hot shower and pulled on his coat over a black suit. He exited the flat and locked the door behind him. He wouldn't usually go for a walk just as a leisure activity, but after that terrible dream, he didn't want to be in the flat.

He pulled up his collar and proceeded out of Baker Street, finding a coffee shop that wasn't busy, and buying himself a take-away caffeine treat.

A few blocks away from the coffee shop, a black sedan pulled up along the path. _Mycroft. _Sherlock stopped in his tracks. A man in a charcoal suit got out of the car.

"What does my dear brother want this time?" Sherlock asked, annoyed.

"Get in the car, Mr Holmes." The suited man replied, and opened the back passenger door.

Sherlock ducked his head and seated himself in the back of the car, wondering what his elder brother wanted.

Sherlock was led into Mycroft's study, his brother seated behind the rich, wooden desk. Sherlock dropped himself into the expensive chair in front of the desk.

"I've spoken to John." Mycroft stated.

Sherlock's stomach jolted. "Yes?" Sherlock said, trying to use his usual tone of boredom.

"What's wrong, brother?"

"What did he tell you?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"That you have not been speaking to him. Although he did not say why. Why are you staying silent, brother?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because I want to. Now answer the question."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "He was annoying me."

"John?"

"Yes, John!"

"How so? I could get him to stop," Mycroft offered.

"Mycroft, for once, keep your nose out of things that do not concern you."

"Have I touched a nerve?" Mycroft asked playfully, with a look of amusement.

"I will be going now." Sherlock stood up and marched out.

The door to the flat was unlocked when Sherlock got home. He pushed it open and climbed the stairs, quickly stepping through the living as not to speak to John, and going straight into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

He made his tea, and decided to stay in the kitchen to drink it, when John entered the room.

"Been out?" he asked.

"Obviously."

"Where?"

Sherlock inhaled hard. "I would appreciate it if you didn't have your lovely little chats with Mycroft. I've just come back from the annoying and inconvenient result of your conversation."

"He just wanted to check up on you."

"Well don't assist him. I am not a child, I can manage."

"I don't see why it's such a big deal, Sherlock."

"I guess you don't know how annoying it is to have someone constantly butting into your business. Actually, you would, wouldn't you? The amount of time you and Sarah spend together is ridiculous. Have you had a chat with her about me too?"

John frowned.

"You have! What is wrong with you, John?"

"Well I don't seem to be able to talk to you about anything! I need to get it off my chest somehow!"

"What do you need to get off your chest? This isn't your problem!"

"And what exactly is 'this'?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!"

John shook his head and left the room. He wondered if Sherlock was ever going to get over it. Would Sherlock get over him? He never imagined something like this would ever happen.

Sherlock was torn. Where would him and John go from here? What happens now?


	4. The Listener

Other people would say to visit a therapist, but Sherlock hated them. They didn't care about people, and they didn't really help. If someone goes and talks to a therapist and tells them their grandpa died, what can they do about it? Nothing. But the strange thing was, Sherlock wanted to talk to someone; someone who would listen. Someone nice…

John was in his room gathering things to be washed. He did feel terrible. At first he actually did believe Sherlock was mistaken about him… 'loving' John, but the events of the last week or so showed this really was affecting the detective. He didn't know what to do… yet. But he would think of something; he had to. Sherlock was his best friend, he didn't want to lose him.

Molly was walking down the halls of St. Bart's Hospital. The air was cool, and it smelt like cleaning products and soap. She strode over to a window to perform her everyday' gaze of the outside view before going home', when she saw a familiar figure approaching the building. Tall, slender, long coat swishing behind him; it could only be Sherlock Holmes. But he looked different. There was no confidence in that walk, but the most noticeable thing, was that he was walking alone. Molly went back to the morgue to conduct the last jobs of the day, and to wait for Sherlock to arrive.

Molly heard the doors open and turned to see the man she was expecting. Sherlock's head was bowed as he walked through, and his eyes met Molly. She was no detective, but she could tell Sherlock was sad. He was so sad. Whatever was going on, she wanted to help.

"Sherlock," she greeted him.

"Molly," he sighed.

Molly turned to the detective. "What's wrong, Sherlock?"  
"Why must there be something wrong?"

"Sherlock, I have known you for a while now, and this," she gestured at his face. "is not normal. So, why did you come here?"

Sherlock looked away, avoiding Molly's gaze. "I needed to talk to someone. I thought of you."

Molly blushed. "Tell me what's wrong, Sherlock."

"Should we perhaps go somewhere a bit less… morbid?" Sherlock suggested, eyeing the room around them.

"Of course. I'll just get my things."

The café was crowded, which for once, did not bother Sherlock, as it meant that no one else should hear their conversation.

"So what's wrong?" Molly asked, taking a sip of her cappuccino.

"It's… it's John."

Molly's hypothesis was confirmed. "Is he okay?"

"He is; but I'm not. That's the problem, Molly."

"Start from the beginning; tell me what happened."

"I did something so stupid. I walked up to him and I… I told him I loved him."

There was silence. Molly shifted in her seat. Sherlock was becoming more and more uncomfortable.

"I don't know why I'm doing this, I should go." Sherlock quickly got up, and turned for the exit.

"No, wait!" Molly called after him. "What happened next?"

Sherlock turned back around and slowly dropped himself back into the chair opposite Molly.

"He didn't believe me. He said I was confused about my feelings, and that it must have been me mistaking our friendship for love. But I know that's not true." Sherlock hung his head.

"How's John been the last few days?" Molly asked.

"We've barely spoken. But when we have, it's just ended in arguing. I'm trying not to be angry at him, but the anger is always there. I haven't been working on any cases either. I know I should take my mind off things, but I just don't feel like doing anything."

"Oh, Sherlock." Molly placed her hand softly on his.

He stared at it. Surprisingly, he was not bothered by the contact.

"So, Molly… what do I do now?"

"First, you need to clear your anger, then you need to talk to him."

Sherlock pulled a face.

"Sherlock, you must. Just sit down, perhaps like we are now, or not. Tell him you meant what you said the other day. But I'm afraid that may not change the way he feels about you. I'm sorry to say it Sherlock, but it seems as if he doesn't feel about you the way that you do him." Molly smiled sadly.

Sherlock thought about how strange that was, really; when people smiled when they were sad. It was like a terrible fake smile. Like they were trying to make you feel better when really they knew you were doomed.

"I could talk to him too if you like."

Sherlock popped back into reality.

"What?"

"I could talk to him; like we've talked just now. I can see how he feels about all this. It might make things easier for the both of you."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Molly."

"Why not?"

Sherlock struggled for an answer. His head drooped in defeat.

"It'll be okay, Sherlock. I'll see you around." Molly stood up and patted Sherlock's shoulder, before leaving the café.

_It'll be okay. It has to be okay._

_I must make it okay._


	5. Interjection

Shortly after leaving the café, Sherlock received a text from Molly.

_Find something to do while I talk to John._

- _Molly_

Sherlock didn't think she would get to business so soon, but after receiving the text, he decided to give Lestrade a call. He asked if there was a case (any case, even a dull one) that he could help with. After a surprised Lestrade gave him something to work with, he left for the Yard.

There were four knocks at the door. John rushed down the stairs and pulled open the black door to reveal Molly.

"Oh, hello Molly; what's up?"

"May I come in?"

"Of course." John pulled the door open wider and gestures for her to step inside. "Would you like some tea? I just boiled the kettle."

"Yes please. Thank you, John."

After the tea was made they sat down in the living room, their steaming mugs set on the small sections of the coffee table that were bare.

"So, was there any particular reason you dropped by?" John asked.

"Yes actually. I talked to Sherlock."

"Right." John looked away uncomfortably.

"I'm not trying to be nosy John, but he's really upset, and it would mean the world to him if you could make things up."

"I have tried to carry on as normal, Molly, believe me."

"I know. Sherlock told me he's felt angry, but he's trying not to be. He just wants things to be better, John. He's going to try extra hard to be reasonable too, I'll make sure of that." Molly smiled.

"So… what do I do? How do I go about making things up?"

"Well, just try simple things. Watch some television together; get back on the cases as a team. You two work great together. Just do normal things."

"Alright, I will try that."

After Molly left, John cleaned up the dishes and decided to tidy up the coffee table. He looked at his watch. It was five past seven in the evening. He wondered what Sherlock was doing…

After the living room looked decent, he browsed in the TV Guide to see what was on that night. One thing caught his eye.

_7:30 – Doctor Who_

It was a rerun, but it would do. John waited patiently on the sofa when his stomach growled and he remembered he hadn't had dinner yet. He thought to make a start to 'making things up with Sherlock' by sending him a simple text.

_Chinese takeaway sound good for dinner?_

- _JW_

Shortly after, his phone buzzed.

_Sounds good. On my way home now._

- _SH_

John was just glad that he got a reply. After reading the text he ordered the food, and at twenty-five past seven, Sherlock got home. He walked up the stairs and slipped off his coat, dumping it on the back of his armchair. He glanced over at John, but looked away quickly.

"I was thinking if you didn't have some other plans, that we could just relax and watch some tellie or something…" John suggested hopefully.

"Sure. Not crap tellie though."

"Oh no, definitely not." John smiled, and Sherlock smiled back weakly.

John turned on the television and a few minutes later, Doctor Who started. John made himself comfortable, and watched the opening of the episode.

"Ah, Doomsday." He muttered.

"What?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Oh, it's the name of this episode." John explained quickly.

"What is this?" Sherlock asked, eyeing the screen.

"Doctor Who." John received a questioning look. "It's a science-fiction show. It's got aliens and a really smart guy in it."

Sherlock had his _'we'll see how good it really is' _expression when he started to watch the show.

The Chinese food arrived ten minutes in, and John got up to get it since he'd already seen the episode. He wondered if he'd be able to get Sherlock into Doctor Who. It was unlikely, but he was willing to try.

After they'd finished eating, they were both watching the screen with unbroken attention. Sherlock watched as Rose was hanging on, not wanting to fall into another dimension, as that would mean leaving The Doctor behind forever. Sherlock glanced over at John sadly. It was rather stupid to relate a very irrelevant situation in the show to his situation, but he couldn't help but think. What is he lost his doctor forever? But then he looked at where they both were: sitting in the same room, watching tellie at home. There was no arguing, nothing bad was happening.

Things were going to be okay. Sherlock hoped anyway.


	6. A Curious Case

Sherlock received a phone call at about half past seven in the morning. It was Lestrade, informing him about an 'unusual case' which he wanted Sherlock to check out.

"John!" Sherlock called as speed walked into the living room while pulling on hi gloves.

"What?" John shouted from the kitchen.

"Case. Let's go!"

"Alright, hang on a minute." John jogged out of the kitchen and into his room, coming out shortly after with his black coat on.

Sherlock and John arrived at the scene, ducking under the crime scene tape to be met by Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Follow me," he said, and he led them into the house and upstairs into the master bedroom.

As soon as they were through the doorway, Sherlock pushed in front of the others. Floating above the bed, was the body. It was suspended from the rafters with tangled rope, so it hung about a metre above the bed.

"His wife is the one who found him. She woke up early this morning and got quite a shock when she saw her husband hanging above her."

Sherlock, John and Lestrade took the body down so it could be examined. They removed the ropes and sent them away for tests. John inspected the body.

"There's some bruising around the face, a black eye, and a broken jaw. Looks they were beaten before they were killed. There's a gunshot through the chest, it would have went straight in the heart."

"The question is, why would someone go to so much trouble as to hang up the body, and how did they do it quiet enough to not wake up the man's wife?" Sherlock eyed the rafters above them.

Sherlock and John shared a cab home. Sherlock was deep in thought about the case, so John decided to not distract him.

A few blocks away from 221B, John's phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket.

"Hello?"

"John, it's Sarah. I was just wondering what's happening. I haven't seen you in a while."

"Yeah sorry, there's just been some stuff to sort out… you know."

"You mean with Sherlock?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Is everything okay between you two now?"

"Um, would I be able to ring you back later?"

"Sure. Talk to you later."  
"Yep, bye."

John slipped the phone back in his pocket.

"Who was that?"

John jumped at Sherlock's voice. "Oh, it was Sarah."

Sherlock looked out the window. He actually forgot she existed for a couple of days. No doubt she was begging John to give her more attention.

When the taxi pulled up at the flat, Sherlock got out quickly and marched to the front door, getting inside as soon as he could. He jogged up the stairs and flew into his room.

"What are you doing?" John called after him, chasing him through the door.

"Thinking." Sherlock mumbled through the door.

John left him and proceeded into the kitchen. Shortly after he heard a door open and saw a black blur come into living room and disappear a few seconds after. It seemed Sherlock was having another tantrum. John thought to just leave him, but then realised that probably wouldn't help things at all, so he made an extra mug of tea. He then got out a saucer and put some biscuits on it, and placed them on a tray along with the steaming mug of hot tea. He eyed his own mug and placed that on the tray too. He took the tray down the hall and stopped outside Sherlock's door.

"Can you open the door please?" he said through the wood.

The door was pulled open, but Sherlock had already gone and sat down on his bed again. John placed the tray on the bedside table. Sherlock looked up.

"What's this for?"

"I thought we could have some tea and biscuits like true English gentlemen, and perhaps think about the case together." John said with a smirk.

"I don't really want to think about the case at the moment." Sherlock mumbled.

"What do you want to do then?" John asked, reaching for a biscuit.

Sherlock thought of a few things. _I want you to go away. I want you to stay. I want to slap you. I want to hold you… what? No, what I really want YOU to do, is dump Sarah. Yeah, that's what I want._

"Sherlock?" John waved a hand in Sherlock's face.

Sherlock jolted. "What?"

"What do you want to do tonight?"

"Well," Sherlock thought quickly. "What's for dinner?"

"Uh, I haven't really thought about that yet." John replied, looking puzzled.

"Let's buy dinner. We can go out somewhere nice, I'll pay." Sherlock offered.

John thought about it for a moment. "Alright. Dinner's sorted then."

He smiled up at Sherlock, who smiled back. Genuinely.


	7. Dinner

"Should I call cab?" John asked as he was getting ready.

"I thought we could walk, since it's only a few streets away." Sherlock said while tying his blue scarf around his neck.

"Where are we going exactly?" John asked, appearing in the living room.

"A new place I found. Called 'Crusaders', it's four star, not too expensive, but not too shabby. I thought we should try it."

"Alright, excellent. Just give me a few minutes and we can go." John said as he left the room again.

Sherlock locked the door behind them as they stepped out onto the street. Sherlock led the way briskly, his coat swaying, as John tried to keep up.

"A bit excited, are we?" John panted as he arrived at Sherlock's side.

"A bit, yes. I'm quite hungry too."

John grinned. Now that he thought about it, so was he.

A few moments later, they arrived out front of the restaurant. They proceeded inside to be met by a hostess.

"A table for two under 'Holmes'." Sherlock spoke to her.

"Follow me," she smiled at the couple in front of her.

"When did you book it?" John asked.

"This morning."

"But we didn't know we were coming here til a couple of hours ago." John replied, puzzled.

"You didn't know." Sherlock tried to hold back smile.

"So you thought you'd just presume I'd say yes, did you?" John smirked.

"I didn't predict, I knew you would."

"You never cease to amaze."

After placing their orders, Sherlock and John settled in their seats, accompanied by a drink each.

"So, what does TARDIS stand for?" Sherlock asked.

"What? Why do you ask?" John looked up, surprised.

"I'm making conversation." Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"Well, it stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space."

"When is that show on again?"

"You like it?"

"I was quite enjoyable."

John grinned, pleased that Sherlock approved of his taste in television programs.

"I mean, it's unrealistic, but enjoyable. Oh, here's our meals, I think." Sherlock sat up eagerly.

Sure enough, plates were placed in front of the two mean, adorned with steaming food.

"Thank you very much." John said, licking his lips.

The waitress disappeared, and John eyed Sherlock's meal. "Filet Mignon? Expensive taste you have."

"Well, it's okay when I'm buying it." Sherlock replied, gracefully slicing into the meat.

"So you're saying if I was buying the food, you would order something cheaper?" John questioned.

"Yes, I mean, that's just decency, isn't it?"

John giggled.

"What?"

"Well, I don't know, it's just a bit strange hearing you talking about decency."

"Why? Are you saying I'm not decent?" Sherlock looked offended.

"Well, you do keep body parts in fridge."

"True."

Molly looked up from behind the menu she was reading. There they were, Sherlock and John, having a meal together. They were smiling and laughing; any outsider would think they were together.

She'd come to the restaurant for dinner of course, but the main reason was to check up on the boys. She wanted everything to work out for them. If they remained friends, so be it, but who knows? They might even end up together. Molly didn't go out much, mainly because she didn't really have that many people to go out with. Even tonight she was at a solitary table.

After she order her meal, she was deep in thought until she heard a familiar voice.

"Molly?"

She looked up.

"Greg, hi!" she said, surprised to see the detective inspector in the same restaurant too.

"Dining with anyone?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat opposite her.

"No, just me." she replied.

"Same with me; I just wanted a good feed." Lestrade grinned.

"Well, um, would you maybe… oh never mind." Molly blushed.

"No, what were you going to say?" Lestrade smiled kindly.

"Well, I thought that maybe since we both weren't here with anyone that you might like to sit at my table…"  
"Sure, that would be great!" Greg replied. "Do you want a drink? I was just going to get one for myself."

"Oh, yes thanks." Molly smiled.

As the night when on, Sherlock and John consumed more drinks, and Sherlock was getting very giggly, much to John's amusement.

"You don't drink much do you?" John laughed. Sherlock was obviously drunk.

"I drink everyday John, don't be ridiculous."

"I mean alcohol, you sod. Look at you; we might have to leave soon, before you do something stupid."

"Yes! Let's leave now, it's getting a bit boring."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, not you! The place. You could never get boring John." Sherlock giggled.

"Alright, leaving now." John slid his seat back and grabbed Sherlock's wrist to tug him up.

The finally got to the flat (Sherlock's wobbly stride cause them to take longer than usual) and Sherlock pushed through the door as soon as he managed to get the key in the keyhole. He started to climb the steps, but he tripped and landed on his stomach across the steps. John rushed forward and ceased his arms.

"C'mon, up you get. I think you should have some water, and then bed."

Sherlock refused to move. "I'll just sleep here. I can't be bothered moving."

John sat next to his friend. "I don't think that'll be too good for your back, come on."

"No! I don't want to move!"

"Fine, I'll just leave you there then, shall I?" John asked as he got up and started to walk up the rest of the stairs.

"Yep. Goodnight!"

John went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. After sculling it down he got a thought. He filled up the glass again, and turned to go back to the staircase, but he bumped straight into Sherlock.

"Woah! Next time, clear your throat or something." John exclaimed.

"Sorry John." Sherlock said, like a child in trouble, and he wrapped his arms around John and hugged him.

"Uh, what are you doing?" John asked, his arms trapped awkwardly at his sides.

"Thanking you."

"What the hell for?"

"For being my friend."

"Okay, um, you're welcome?"

"Now, look after me."

"What?"

"Get me drink."

"What happened to sleeping on the stairs?"

"It was uncomfortable."

"Okay, I'll get you a drink, but only this once. I don't want you to break something." John said, and he turned to get to the sink.

Sherlock walked into the lounged and collapsed on the sofa. He took his mobile phone out of his pocket and composed a text.

_Thanks for the suggestion, Molly._

- _SH_


	8. The Intruder

Sherlock awoke from the sound of loud knocking. He groaned at the pain in his head. Why did he have to get drunk? Stupid experiment…

He pulled on his robe and thumped down the stairs clumsily, wrenching the door open when he got to bottom.

"Hello," Sarah said nervously.

"You! What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked in a lazy drawl.

"I came to see if John was alright."

"Of course he's alright. Why wouldn't he be? Hasn't he contacted you for five minutes?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and pushed past the tall man.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Sherlock called.

"Trust me, I don't want me to be here either." Sarah said as she climbed the staircase.

"What's going on?" Sherlock heard John call from his bedroom.

"Intruder! There's an intruder in the house! Get your gun, John!" Sherlock shouted, and received a glare from Sarah. He grinned back at her slyly.

John pushed through the door, his gun in his hand, and he pointed it at the first person he saw.

"What the HELL, John?!" Sarah shrieked.

John lowered the weapon immediately. "Sarah, what are you doing here?"

"That's what I asked." Sherlock stepped forward.

"Shut up." Sarah spat at him.

"Hey! Don't be rude to Sherlock!" John frowned.

"What? What is wrong with you? He told you to point a gun at me!"

"That's his idea of a joke, Sarah!"

"Well it's not funny!"

"You're right," John looked at Sherlock, and a smirked escaped his lips.

"Are you bloody serious? You're taking his side with this?"

"There are no sides here!"

"What's all this noise about?" Mrs Hudson entered the passage, tying the front of her robe.

"Nothing Mrs Hudson, everything is fine." Sherlock assured her.

"It doesn't sound like it. Why is everyone shouting?"

"He told John to point a gun at me!" Sarah pointed a bony finger at Sherlock.

"He's the one who pointed it at you!" Sherlock argued.

"Sherlock, you're not helping." John sighed.

"I'm not trying to help; I'm trying to get her out of our house!"

"Fine, I'm leaving." Sarah thumped down the stairs. "Happy?" she called back at Sherlock, who smiled sweetly in return.

The door slammed, and both John and Mrs Hudson's heads turned straight in Sherlock's direction.

"What?"

"That wasn't very good was it?" Mrs Hudson said softly, and she turned and left.

Sherlock turned to John, who shook his head and disappeared back in his room.

Well that was a disappointment. Sherlock rather enjoyed the little gun joke. Oh well…

Sherlock made coffee. He was going to apologise to John. That's what friends do, isn't it?

He knocked on John's door and he heard a mumble of reply, so he pushed open the door to find John propped up on his bed, reading a book.

"John, I am sorry." Sherlock said, placing the mug down on John's bedside table.

John looked up at Sherlock, and raised an eyebrow. "For…"

"I am sorry for… being… quite ridiculous."

John continued to stare at Sherlock. To avoid his gaze, Sherlock picked up the mug. "Here, a nice, hot cup of coffee." He took the book out of John's hands and pressed the mug into them.

John took a sip. "It's cold."

"A nice cup of coffee." Sherlock corrected.

"It's disgusting." John crinkled his nose after his next sip.

"A cup of coffee." Sherlock corrected again.

"I'm not even sure this is coffee." John put the mug down.

"Cup." Sherlock said finally.

Sherlock and John's eyes met for a few moments, before they burst out laughing. John was shaking with giggles, and Sherlock placed his hands on his knees to steady himself from falling over.

"You know, it actually was quite funny today." John giggled.

"I know. Too bad you didn't seem to think so at the time." Sherlock grinned.

"Yeah sorry, but I needed to seem decent, unlike you." John grinned wickedly.

"Well, she wasn't decent to me!" Sherlock defended.

John's face dropped as if he had a sudden thought.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, concerned.

"It's just… nothing." John said, realising who he was talking to me.

"Is it about Sarah?" Sherlock asked, but he already knew the answer.

John nodded reluctantly. "I don't think she's… right for me."

"She's not." Sherlock blurted.

John glared at him.

"I mean, well… you're a really kind person, and she seems a bit controlling. You can't let people control you, John. It will make you unhappy." Sherlock said, sitting on the bed next to John.

John stared at Sherlock in disbelief.

"What?"

"I just can't believe what's coming out of your mouth. Are you trying o be my psychiatrist?"

"Oh God, no. Psychiatrists wouldn't care about you."

"So… you care about me?"

"Of course."

"Well, if you care, you will definitely learn how to make better coffee. No offence, but I don't know what the hell I just drank."

"Yes, I will work on that."


	9. Missing

John was awake bright and early the next morning. He couldn't sleep while thinking about what he had planned for the day ahead. The truth was, he didn't feel for Sarah anymore. He didn't look forward to seeing her, he didn't feel like visiting her anymore. In fact, after the previous day's escapade, he was quite pissed off with her. John knew she didn't like Sherlock one bit, and that wasn't acceptable in John's eyes.

He finished reading the paper, and folded it before placing it on the coffee table. He pulled on his coat and walked into the hall. He heard a shuffle from Sherlock's room. John quickened his pace and exited the flat. He didn't want to explain what was going to happen. He would rather tell him when he got back. He called for a cab and waited.

Sherlock looked at the clock in his room. It had just turned eight o'clock. He rose out of bed slowly and ran his hands through his hair, before yanking his bedroom door open and stepping into the living room. He saw the day's paper on the coffee table, and next to it, a cup mark. Sherlock proceeded into the kitchen. There was a mug by the sink. Sherlock went back into the hall, and walked over to John's room. The door was open, but John wasn't inside. Sherlock ran through the possibilities of why John could be missing. He could have gone for a solitary walk, but that usually occurred when John was annoyed at Sherlock, and Sherlock was quite sure he hadn't done anything wrong in the last several hours. Another possibility was that he alone got called onto a case, but Sherlock had worked on a case with Lestrade just recently, so that wouldn't happen either. The third possibility was that John had been kidnapped. Sherlock's eyes widened. He decided before jumping to any conclusions, he would ring John. He went back into his room and grabbed his phone, selecting John's name from the contacts, and hitting the call button.

John heard his phone, and he fished it out of his pocket. It was Sherlock. John silenced the phone and put it back in his coat pocket. He couldn't talk to him yet. Shortly after, he arrived outside Sarah's house. He paid the cabbie and got out of the car. He knocked on Sarah's front door, and she answered it shortly after.

"Oh, hello John."

Sherlock paced the hall. He didn't know where to look. There wasn't even any proof that he had been kidnapped, but what if he had for whatever reason? He could ring Mycroft… yes, he would do that. He got out his phone again and called his brother.

"Sherlock," Mycroft answered.

"Mycroft, John is missing."

"For how long?"

"He wasn't here when I got up."

"Maybe he went for a morning stroll?" Mycroft suggested mockingly.

"No, he wouldn't have. He's missing, Mycroft!"

"And what do you want me to do about it?"

"Look for him of course. Look at all your camera footage or something, just do it!"

"Don't use that tone, Sherlock, or I shall not do anything for you."

"Please Mycroft."

"Alright, but I personally think you're being paranoid."

Mycroft ended the call.

About five minutes later, Sherlock's phone rang. He reached for it quickly. It was Mycroft.

"Any news?" Sherlock said as he answered the phone.

"I was right, brother dear. John left the house at seven minutes to eight. He was not dragged out by bandits. From outside you house he caught a cab and arrived at a woman's house. He should be coming back home any moment. Now, don't call me again unless you actually know he's been kidnapped." Mycroft hung up.

Sherlock had to admit he felt pretty stupid. He put his phone down sadly. John went back to Sarah's? Why did he have to leave so early?

Minutes later, Sherlock heard the front door, and he ran down the stairs. "John!"

"Um, hello Sherlock." he looked puzzled at Sherlock's strange behaviour.

"Don't do that again!"

"Do what?"

"Leave without telling me! I was worried, I rang Mycroft to look for you!"

"Sherlock, calm down. I just went out for a bit."

"To Sarah's."

John held his breath for a moment. "Yes, to Sarah's. I… broke it off with her."

"Oh," Sherlock said awkwardly.

"It's okay, it had to be done."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "You know I'm not good with this sort of thing, don't you?"

"I know." John sighed.

Sherlock was saddened that even John admitted it was true. "John?"

"Yes?"

"I just… want you to know that… I hope that when you feel down, that I can make you happy; in some kind of way."

John looked up at his friend. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being a good friend."


	10. The Return

John sat on the couch and watched telly. Sherlock observed him from his spot. He wasn't exactly sure what was going on – was John sad because his relationship with Sarah was over, or was he upset about hurting her feelings? Was he upset at all?

Sherlock took a step forward. "John," he started reluctantly.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Are you okay?"

The words hung in the air for too long. Sherlock wished he hadn't said it, and John was surprised Sherlock had said it.

"I'm okay." John finally replied. "I'm just… a bit confused… about things." _What am I doing? Why am I talking to Sherlock about this?_

"What things?" Sherlock asked. He was a bit concerned now. "John, tell me."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"Well you did, so finish it."

John looked at Sherlock, surprised. "Since when do you have interest in what people think and feel? This isn't like you."

"I have interest when it's you, John."

"Well… that's nice to know Sherlock; thank you. It's just…" John sighed. "Have you ever felt like you've wanted something, but at the same time, you're not sure if it will work, so then you try to convince yourself you don't want it, but you really know you do?"

Sherlock frowned. "Yes."

John wasn't expecting that. He always expected Sherlock to have no idea about feelings, but then John realised how terrible that fact really was; that he thought Sherlock was an emotionless shell, when clearly, he wasn't. deep down, he was just like everyone else, but for whatever reason, he chose to hide it.

Sherlock's message tone went off. His phone was on the table. John looked up at Sherlock, who stayed where he was.

"I'll get it shall I?"

John reached for the phone and unlocked it. He opened the message. His stomach dropped. John stood up and held the phone out to Sherlock.

"Here," he said.

"Not now, I'm busy."

"Sherlock,"

_"Not now."_

"He's back." John stated.

Sherlock stared, before taking the phone.

_Come and play._

_Tower Hill._

_Jim Moriarty x._

Sherlock stared at the message. He kept reading it through, again and again and again. _No. No no no no no._ _Really, not now. Just not now. _

"Sherlock?"


	11. Blood on the Pavement

**FINALE**

Moriarty was cruel. He was so, so cruel. He ripped Sherlock apart. He tore his hope and his future. He killed everyone's belief in him; everyone's but John.

John was in the cab. It felt like his stomach was tied in a knot. He had a very bad feeling; a very bad feeling indeed.

"Can you please go faster?" he said anxiously to the cabbie.

"I'm going as fast as is legal sir, I can't do any more than that." The cabbie replied.

John sighed nervously. Damn Moriarty! Damn him to the deepest pits of hell, where the most painful fires would engulf his body and burn him slowly until he finally died. What that man had done to his best friend…

"Stop here." John said to the cabbie, and jumped out of the car. As his feet hit the bitumen, his phone rang. He looked at the screen; it was Sherlock.

"Hello?"

"John," Sherlock started.

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

"Turn around and walk back where you came." Sherlock instructed.

"No, I'm coming in!." John said, eying St Bart's.

"Just do as I ask; please." Sherlock pleaded desperately.

What was wrong? What was wrong with him? John had never heard him sound this way before.

"Where?" John turned and paced the other way.

"Stop there."

"Sherlock?"

"Okay, look up, I'm on the rooftop."

John shifted his gaze to the top of St Bart's, and sure enough, his friend was standing on the edge, phone up to his ear and his coat blowing in the wind.

"Oh god." John exhaled heavily.

"I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this." Sherlock spoke softly; sadly.

"What's going on?" John's heart was racing with worry.

"An apology." Sherlock started. "It's all true."

"What?"

"Everything they said about me; I invented Moriarty."

John paused. He wouldn't believe that. He wouldn't believe that for one second. "Why are you saying this?"

"I'm a fake."

"Sherlock,"

"They newspapers were right all along." Sherlock's voice wobbled. "I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly; in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you, that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met; _the first time we met, _you knew all about my sister, right?"

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could." John laughed sadly.

The two men stared at each other from the ground to the rooftop, from the rooftop to the ground.

"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you." Sherlock sniffed. "It's a trick; just a magic trick."

"No." John said firmly. "Alright, stop it now."

John started forward.

No, stay exactly where you are!" Sherlock demanded. "Don't move."

"Alright." John raised his hand and stayed where he stood.

Sherlock was reaching out. He was reaching for John. Although John couldn't see it, tears were streaming down the detective's face.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?" Sherlock begged.

"Do what?" John wasn't sure what was going on.

"This phone call, it's my note. It's what people do, don't they… leave a note?"

"Leave a note when?" John was fearing the worst. A lump was growing in his throat, and he was silently begging for his fear not to happen.

"Goodbye John."

"No." John shook his head desperately. "Don't."

He kept looking at Sherlock, and the detective slowly lowered the phone from his ear, and threw it aside. john lowered his quickly.

"SHERLOCK!" he cried.

Sherlock raised his arms and dropped himself forward. He was falling. He was falling so fast.

"Sherlock," John couldn't believe what he was seeing.

His best friend's body hit the pavement hard, his body crumpled. John jogged forward. He saw Sherlock's head and shoulders from behind a truck which was parked alongside the pavement. He continued forward when he was knocked over from behind. Suddenly he was flat on the road. He picked himself up painfully. There was now a crowd around his friend.

"Sherlock, Sherlock," he muttered, barely more than a whisper.

He broke into a run. I'm a doctor, let my come through." He pushed through the crowd. "Let me come through please! He's my friend. He's my friend, please."

There he was. Sherlock. His hair was drenched in blood, and the dark red trickled down his pure, pale face. He felt for a pulse hopelessly. Of course, there wasn't one.

People were pulling him away from the body. "Please let me just…" he pleaded as he was pulled away.

He saw the medics come and they put Sherlock and a stretcher, and before he knew it, his friend was gone.

His best friend, Sherlock Holmes, was dead.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Yes, I did that! I totally did that to you!**  
**I will let you know that I am planning a sequel, but I'm afraid I can't tell you it's title yet because... well, because I don't know yet!**  
**I hope you enjoyed this story**


	12. The Sequel Has Begun!

The sequel to "I Think I Love You" had begun!

It is called "In The Dark", here is the link to chapter 1: s/8642984/1/In-The-Dark-BBC-Sherlock-Fanfic


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